


Hiraeth

by WolfVenom



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Aggression, Blood and Injury, Bruises, Drabble, Emotional Constipation, Fights, Gift Fic, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, Rough Kissing, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 11:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20966189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfVenom/pseuds/WolfVenom
Summary: Like a wounded mutt, Zed can't seem to stop crawling back into Shen's arms, even when he's not the one ending up hurt.There is an inescapable longing for a home that he can never return to, if it even existed at all.





	Hiraeth

**Author's Note:**

> Hi so I have a small concussion after fainting in my laundry room last night and an injured hand (and tongue, but that doesn't matter) to boot, so I am very sorry for mistakes that may arise in this small ficlet as result. I will try to go back and edit it when I feel better, but for now, here is my little gift for GalacticTitty!! Lots of love~

Zed can’t help the surge of fury in his eyes whenever he catches Shen staring off at nothing in particular, face blank of anything which may hint at what he is feeling or thinking of, the sinews wrapped along the meat of his shoulders loose without fear or tension, and Zed _despises_ it. Despises the way he _looks_ without _seeing_, _holds_ without _cherishing_, as if the meagre spoils of affection they so rarely share were nothing but distractions from a higher, much more important calling. 

_Loathing_ courses along each muscle fibre stretched taut within Zed, and his fingers twitch in response to the urge to lash out. Urges he usually fulfills without question, yet hesitation races up his spine. Shen is bare of any clothing around his torso, however his headgear had been pulled back and now rests against his throat, so vacant of mottled bruises it makes Zed sick. The bandages wrapped tenfold around his waist have done their job in staunching the lazy ooze of slicked red, but the pristine white has nearly been completely stained through to a vicious brown. However there is no wince of barely-hidden pain, no subtle grin towards Zed’s thorough efforts at haphazard medicine, and the ribbon tied so arbitrarily around his very conscience snaps in two frayed pieces with a snarl. 

Shen had always been prone to contusions along his back, the purples and greens of which would linger for weeks after whichever incidence bestowed them, and Zed hopes that such a weakness hasn’t changed now, as he lunges for the Eye of Twilight with the vigor of a man possessed, noting with vitriol how barely even a wheeze escapes Shen’s chest at the attack, each notch in his spine surely rattling against one another with the force of the blow as the edge of the stone steps crash into him, digging, pressing, goring into the bronzed flesh hidden so treacherously beneath the strips of filthy gauze. 

Anger flares hotly inside Zed, bubbling just beneath the surface of the skin in an all-encompassing itch that is futile to attempt to relieve, his only chance at lessening the pinpricks of distaste by inflicting his struggle right back at the source, venom welling up in the back of his throat and just waiting to be spit. 

“_Quit hiding in that thick skull of yours, fool_,” Zed snarls into Shen’s ear, nose tickled by the deep sable hair running astray from its usual messy top-knot, “_or do I need to chain your very soul to this plane of existence instead?_”

Beneath him the thick corded muscles of Shen’s belly work in an endeavor to lessen the shrill ache beginning to coil throughout every nerve from the topmost vertebrae to his tailbone due to the jagged stone slicing into his back, pre-existing injuries squealing in agony at the further disruption. Shen breathes in deep, the very air Zed exhales furiously with bared teeth, and the perfect face of unbotherdness sends Zed into a rage. Hell hath no fury like an assassin scorned. 

The acrid tang of copper in the air only drives Zed onwards, inhibitions scattered with nothing to pull the pieces back together. Shen is pliant beneath him, a willing receptacle for all of his wrath and lust; indistinguishable from intimacy or savagery. Steel claws adorning each of his fingertips pop past the first layer of the vulnerable skin that is Shen’s throat, the sensation not unlike that of carving a blade through a sheet of rice paper. Seeing his blood -- that cherry-sweet syrup at the edge of all of Zed’s thoughts -- throws the assassin into a fit. It would be so easy to flay him, right then and there, and be rid of it all. But, as his joints begin to creak with the impending movement of a kill, his mouth abruptly sours and metal points slip free of the flesh they had nearly embedded themselves within. Throughout it all, Shen is silent and still, eyes lidded, that oh so familiar scar from a teenagehood long ago winking at him daringly where it cuts a fine crease across the stubble lining Shen’s jaw. Zed growls, a primal, _feral_ thing of a noise. 

Lacking care of the wounds littering Shen’s throat, Zed grips onto his throat in a vice, thumb pressing dangerously upwards against the yielding flesh he finds and relishing the spasm that wracks his prey’s body as air is stripped from his throbbing lungs and blood begins rushing in his head. _There_, Zed twinges in satisfaction, a mere _glint_ just shy of emotion flitting across Shen’s narrowed gaze, sharp white canines peeking between lips parted into an almost-grimace. Victory swells within Zed’s gut, a heady thing. 

Clouds have long since consumed the light of the fading sun, skies filled with the anger of a thousand storms and the fierce rumbling of thunder accompanying it. Rain has yet to fall, but the threat is there. Just like Zed. Always, just beneath the surface, there lies that ever-present threat, chomping at the bit for a taste of Shen’s weakness. A cry for his mercy. 

He watches Shen’s face turn from red to a drab white before relenting, a delicate hold replacing his violent clutch. Shen’s airways sound absolutely shredded, breaths audibly dribbling with what sounds to be blood but could be any number of things, and when Zed jabs the prominent edge of his knee into the sensitive abdomen beneath him, the resulting gasps for oxygen to not choke on is addictive. “You parade yourself like some untouchable, perfectly balanced _thing_ for all to see, but _I_ know the truth behind your insufferable attitude. That lame excuse for a boy trying his hardest to be something he had no capability to become, blooming under half-assed praise and tripping dreamily over your own clumsy feet for a _taste_ of that divinity you hold so dear.” The toxins of his spite is palpable in the air at this point, most definitely suffocating Shen as he writhes against the unforgiving ground and the equally as such force of Zed’s body pinning him. 

For the first time in their current encounter, Zed claims Shen’s eyes. No longer does he gaze at something seemingly out of mortal reach, but even without any distinct features within the fog of pale violet that make up his eyes, the sharp thrill that rushes through Zed lets him know that should Shen have possessed a pupil, they would both be locked with his own. Now, he can freely identify those delicious flaws and gorge himself until the void yawning in his heart solidifies with petty vengeance. 

With nary a grunt of effort, Zed heaves the body below him to his feet and, with precarious amounts of force and shadow magicks, hurls Shen as hard as he can against the nearby rock foundation of the monastery, relishing in the _crack_ on impact. Quick teleportation has him right back at Shen’s throat, _where he belongs_, but it wasn’t as if the man had any incentive or ability to try and escape his rightfully due punishment, decades of torment laid bare in the form of fists. Zed never pulls not one of his punches, blows connecting with the softest parts of the human body; sternum, belly, jaw, throat, until his knuckles draw back to the spray of scarlet red and all his hard work at patching up previous wounds unravels like the bandages slipping from Shen’s chest. 

Shen, who accepts his masochistic pleasure from the treatment and never utters a cry. He could’ve, not like Zed would be able to hear it through the _thump-thump-thumping_ in his head or the insults spat from lips as dry as cracked earth and tainted with ghosts of fleeting memories, yearning crawling into his soul as the thoughts assault him, mimicking the very way he does so to Shen. With the abrupt hail of rain blanketing the lush wood of Ionia, Zed can imagine what he refuses to believe are tears scalding his cheeks beneath the mask are nothing more than drops of water. 

One final hit, Zed smashing the back of Shen’s skull against the wall with not nearly as much force as before, and he slumps forward in exhaustion, mentally and physically. Though it could likely be caused by the rapid swelling of the lacerations and welts blossoming across a mangled figure, the heat that Shen exudes is sapping the fight from his marrow, shame at the way he nuzzles into the very space near Shen’s collarbone that he’d been so intent on crushing earlier worming into his mind. Neither of them know how long they lay there, one profusely bleeding from albeit sluggish wounds and the other worn out from the shattering revelation of his actions. 

Lightning cracks down nearby, deafening in its strike, but not a soul twitches. Rain pours, blood pools, and Shen’s hand comes up to firmly clasp around the back of Zed’s neck, a grounding presence anchoring a flailing victim from thrashing about the ocean to inevitably drown. Zed finds it laughable, how even after abusing Shen like he deserves and spitting hatred from a tongue so skilled in deception, the man never holds the grudge. Like the ebb and flow of life itself, he takes what he is given and releases it thereafter, accepting Zed’s hungry touches as they go from aggressive to kitten-meek, depraved of much needed affection which neither of them truly deserve. But they give it to one another anyway, as warped and cruel as that sentiment may be. It’s the only way they know how, the only expression accepted. 

Zed thinks he can taste copper and bile in Shen’s mouth when he claims it none too gently, but even carrion-feeders feast upon the undesirable and repugnant, much like their pulverized tatters of a relationship. But as he has been for as long as Zed can remember, Shen is the one constant in his life that ceases to stop squirming, and nothing that he dishes out to try and achieve otherwise will change it. 

In the back of his throat, Zed can taste his own putrid violence. He spits it into Shen’s mouth with hostility, sharing in his neverending turmoil the only way he knows how. With a vicious bite. 

_"I fucking _hate_ you."_

"_And I you._"

**Author's Note:**

> zed is gay and so are you


End file.
